


La Petite Mort

by InsaniaTorn



Series: The Chronicles of Mad Freddie and the Apocalypse [1]
Category: Vampire: The Masquerade, Vampire: The Masquerade – Bloodlines (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Biting, Bloodplay, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Sexual Tension, Suicidal Thoughts, Survival Horror
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-08
Updated: 2016-06-16
Packaged: 2018-07-13 02:40:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7135241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsaniaTorn/pseuds/InsaniaTorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The night called those who were chosen for better things. At least, that was what the Kindred told their childer after the Embrace. </p><p>Blake Parish was not the traditional Ventrue. She was a wild-child, breaking bones and pummeling flesh for a living far away from the aristocratic criminality of her family. She was not of their ilk, but she was a means to an end...and that was quite enough for Sebastian to work with.</p><p>...he just never counted on a grimy Malkavian and a dead phoenix to give her the freedom he tried so hard to destroy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. For Our Name Is Chaos Eternal

“Thank you for the call,” she murmured into the phone. The faceless, simpering business partner repeated his _very sincere condolences_ and wished her well.

Blake smoothed the skirt of her brocade dress as she hung up.

Her father never liked to make things easy. Even in death he was complicating everything. Parish & Co. was now at her mercy, and thus, like vultures, everyone was rising out of the ashes of the family’s patriarch to get a bit of the dying carcass. Whispers and rumours followed her arrival, drifting plans of selling off all shares, plans of economic ruin due to her inexperience and general contempt for her family. 

She tried to think back to any time where she’d actually appreciated her father; in her childhood, he was just there every now and again, a male presence between her countless nannies. He was never warm, never caring. He was just concerned for his _heiress._ It did little but solidify her desire to get away from this life.

Looking down at the family crest, emblazoned on the notepaper that her new right-hand man had brought to her hotel, she sighed. She wanted none of this. The announcement that ‘Perish’, (as she’d been nicknamed by an overzealous coach) was retiring from fighting still stung. She knew she had to do it, but still… it’d been her first venture outside of the family business. It was the highlight of her very short adult life, up until this point.

“Ms. Parish, your dinner meeting is soon,” a secretary with immaculately coiffed hair appeared through the double doors of her father’s office. “Mr. LaCroix has sent a car.”

“Nice of him,” she remarked dryly. “Why exactly is he so eager to see me, again?”

“Ah- he was in talks with your father about a merger,” she explained, a hint of disapproval ghosting across her face.

_You’re supposed to know this, Blake. You’re supposed to be daddy’s little CEO-in-the-making._

“Great,” Blake took the leather clutch from the desk and slid off of the ridiculously large office chair. “We’ll have a lot to talk about.”

The woman gave her a reproachful look. “I think it’s best if one of the senior assistants joins you. It’s what your father would want, as you’d be so caught up in your… _grief._ ”

Blake almost snorted. “If Gerald wants to come, by all means. By the way, Cynthia, you can say it: I don’t care about this company, and it’s not because of the grief. I literally don’t give a shit about my father being dead.”

Cynthia’s gaze hardened and she withdrew without a word.

_How did he get people to like him this much? Geez. He couldn’t even get his own daughter to like him._

“Gerald, are you ready?” Blake asked, absently checking her lipstick in the foyer’s mirror.

“Yes, and I’d like to take point on this discussion if you don’t mind,” he answered curtly. Tall, harassed-looking and clad in his darkest, most expensive suit, Gerald Nelson was a man that Blake could at least respect. The other employees walked on eggshells around her, but Gerald made her out for what she was and wasn’t afraid to show it. From the long memory of him constantly shadowing her father, he gave his life to the company.

Blake looked over her shoulder at him and shrugged. “Go for it.”

* * *

Sebastian LaCroix was one of those men that drew glances wherever he went. He wasn’t a particularly tall man, nor was he particularly striking, but his demeanour was old-world enough to drape him in the regality that only a few people could possess. It was quite odd, actually. He looked younger than Gerald, but his gravitas was unmistakable.

He’d smiled graciously at them when they entered, going so far as to kiss Blake’s hand as he led her to their private table. Blake was recognized at once; throughout their meeting, patrons kept approaching for a handshake, an autograph or a picture. Gerald was getting irritated by the whole affair, but Sebastian handled it with good-humoured grace. Blake wasn’t a fool; she knew that hiding under that façade was a very cool interior that wanted a deal before all else.

Gerald was playing hardball, and was bringing up prior promises and ‘conflicts of interest’ at every turn. It seemed like her father wasn’t sold on the merger; if the hero-worship that she recalled from her youth was any indication, Gerald was unlikely to go against Montgomery Blake’s wishes, even in death.

Sebastian kept making slight concessions, giving understanding nods and acting generally as though his life’s ambition was to join their companies. In the end, Gerald shook his head and apologised without feeling; the assets just weren’t in place, he said. Nothing to be done, it’s just not meant to be. He stood up to leave.

Blake finished her pinot grigio and shook LaCroix’s hand, noting with some amusement that his aristocratic good humour had cracked just a little. Cold blue eyes met her own, and she felt a sudden pressure against the inside of her skull. She felt herself smiling, feeling quite sorry for the way that Gerald had treated this very generous man.

“Mr. LaCroix, I think we would be remiss if we didn’t join with you.”  
  
Gerald froze in place. “Blake, what exactly do you think you’re doing?”  
  
She felt dreamlike, almost as though she was watching the entire scene unfold without being there. “I listened to you the entire time. I don’t think you’re being honest with our friend here. A merger would be mutually beneficial for both of our companies,”  
  
Gerald’s face turned an ugly shade of beetroot. “I’m sorry, Blake, but you don’t know what you’re talking about. You never cared to look into our holdings or our agendas, so I respectfully suggest you leave the deal-making to me. I have worked with your father for too long to allow his vision to be destroyed."

He was right. She didn’t know shit about the company’s current status. She’d been forced to learn the ins and outs from a young age, but since she turned eighteen, she’d broken away from any dealings with the place.

Somehow it didn’t feel as though it mattered.

“I’m his heir,” she said matter-of-factly. “I have the final say.”

“Blake-“ Gerald’s hand closed around her arm with surprising strength. Apparently those fitness club memberships were good for something after all. “We will discuss this later.”

The contact seemed to shift the dreamy atmosphere and a rush of shame threatened to dispel it completely. “I-you’re right. I’m sorry Mr. LaCroix, we’ll continue our talks later.”

She turned to look at those very blue eyes again and it all went blank, like a schoolroom blackboard wiped clean of its lesson.

* * *

 


	2. Anima Noir

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter name is the title of a Theatre des Vampires album :)
> 
> I forgot to add this into the first chapter, but the lore is taken from the clan books and the game. It's a bit of a Frankensteinian monster of every edition I own, really.

It was viciously cold. Blake turned, floundering slightly as she sought a blanket. The quilt was uncomfortably frigid but quickly warmed with body heat. The sheets back at her father’s mansion were always made of satin for some reason, and she hated it.

She slid a little as she turned, and paused.

Satin sheets.

Why was she in bed? Wasn’t she at a dinner? What-?

Her eyes flew open and instantly and she winced; it felt as though her head was splitting. Scrambling to her bedside table, she stared at the clock in disbelief. It was four in the evening of the next day. The answering machine nearby was blinking ominously.

_Oh boy. This isn’t going to be good._

She tapped the replay button and put the volume up before padding towards the bathroom. The mechanical voice announced ten new voice messages and began playing the first one as she returned to the bedroom, toothbrush in hand.

“Ms. Parish—Blake, this is Cynthia. What happened last night? Gerald called and says you overrode him at the meeting and left. He’s a mess. He said you threatened to fire him. Call the office as soon as you get this, we can get some lawyers on it…argue bereavement or something.”

The machine clicked and the machine announced the next message. Blake sat with her toothbrush hanging out of her mouth and completely flabbergasted.

“It’s Gerald. I know you hated that man, even though he did everything for you. Not everyone is a hands-on parent, you know that? You pulled a bitch move today. You ruined his life’s work. How could you?”

A feeling of dread had settled into the pit of her stomach long before the message ended. She cut the machine off before the next message played. No doubt they’d all carry the same theme. She took up the cordless phone near the machine and found that somehow the ringer had been turned off. Had she done that? What the fuck happened last night?

She checked the speed dial list on the desk and hit the number for Gerald. No answer. Fuck. She settled for dialing Cynthia next.

The greeting was curt. “Ms. Parish.”

“Where’s Gerald? He and I need to talk.” No reason to tell her that last night was a complete blur. These things were best kept close to the chest until everything was figured out.

“He hasn't come in, he hasn’t answered any calls,” she said dryly. “I imagine he’s a bit upset.”

“If he makes contact with you, tell him that I expect him here this evening.”

“Yes, Ms. Parish.” The phone clicked.

There was only one other thing to do. Blake sighed and extracted the business card from her clutch. She had to go see LaCroix.

* * *

 

An hour later, Blake was striding across the marble floor of LaCroix’s immodestly huge foyer. The officer at the front desk was more than happy to call the lift after she flashed her ID, telling her that Mr. LaCroix had been expecting her.

Well, it seems like _he_ knew what happened last night. He was very likely responsible for it, too.

The elevator dinged at the penthouse floor, doors opening smoothly to reveal a very opulent, if not slightly gaudy interior. Classical artwork adorned the walls, and almost all furnishings seemed to recall an era of wealth and royalty. Filigree golden fixtures covered almost everything.

LaCroix was seated directly across from the lift, clad in a well-tailored, slate-grey suit. “Welcome, Ms. Parish,”

“Quite the office you’ve got; I’m more of a modernist myself,” she said aridly, heels clicking across the immaculately shined tiles.

He smiled. “I take it you are here about our rather advantageous deal?”

“Yeah, especially since I can’t remember making it,” she said, keeping the accusation out of her voice. Perhaps he’d spiked her wine…her food… _something_.

“Grief is quite a thing, some people find that they lose time when they experience a heavy loss,” he gestured for her to take a seat. “I assure you, you were quite sure of your decision. It allowed you to run the company without having to waste your entire life on micro-managing every affair.”  
  
Blake’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. It probably wasn't a good look to deny being at least a little torn up over her father's death, but she couldn't bring herself to care what LaCorix thought about it. The blackout was far too unsettling. “It certainly hasn’t pleased my father’s assistant.”

LaCroix’s smile widened. “He was never going to respect you, you know. He was too attached to your father’s way of doing things. In any case, after you sent him off, we merely had a verbal agreement.”

“Nothing more?” the knot in Blake’s stomach had eased slightly. Well, this she could work with.

“No, nothing more,” he said. “I won’t enter into a deal right after you’ve buried your father. What sort of man would I be?”

“With all due respect Mr. LaCroix, I hated my father. I appreciate your concern, however,” she replied frankly.

“Even so, he was your father,” LaCroix pointed out. “Like him or not, his death would have affected any child.”  
  
Maybe he was right. Blake certainly felt _something_ since the news of the car crash broke. It wasn't grief.

Perhaps it was regret.  
  
She sighed. “I need to take a few days and rest, I think. I’m not sure what happened at the dinner and I can’t pretend that I’m not worn down by the past few days.”

LaCroix nodded, meeting her eyes with a sympathetic look. “Why not allow some of my employees to take you around Los Angeles? Whenever you’re ready, of course. With business being as it is, I’m used to having some of my more promising people show prospective partners around.”

_Of course. It pays to schmooze, and LaCroix doesn’t seem like the type to do it outside of the boardroom. Rubbing shoulders with professional kissasses didn't seem like much of a good time, but still, it couldn’t hurt, right? It might even buy enough time to learn about this guy._

“In a few days, I guess. Thank you for the offer.”  


* * *

Ash mimed a sip from the glass in his hands; the vodka brushed against his lips before slipping away again. That blonde Camarilla stooge had sent his men into the club; part of him wondered why, but part of him was trying to convince himself that he didn’t care. Isaac, of course, would be livid, but really at this point, he could most truthfully give less than a shit.

There was a girl with them. His steely eyes swept over the undulating bodies to where she stood. She looked familiar; as she turned to look at the bar, he finally got a good glimpse of her face. Blake Parish, the mixed martial arts sweetheart of the bloodthirsty mortals. He’d been at events with her before, though they’d never spoken at length. She was far less severe looking in person; her hair fell in soft, snarling curls down her shoulders, rather than being braided tightly to her skull. If he was human, he would almost fancy trying to chat her up—he was always one for a pretty face, and she actually had quite a delicate, yet striking presence about her. Though, she wasn’t his usual type; her attitude was prohibitive. She was too headstrong, requiring too much effort.

He watched as she sipped her drink, noting how the muscles in her throat moved as she swallowed. Her café-au-lait skin was washed out by the flashing lights, but she still managed to look lively and full of sun-kissed health. Human. 

It made him dislike her on principle.

Though, why was LaCroix shepherding her around? Bloodsucker politics was not his thing, but still… she was the heiress to a large, shady-as-hell company, who’d just come in to make it big. Of course, that money hungry bastard wanted some of it but was there more to this? As much as he tried to be apathetic, the idea of a Camarilla Prince-wannabe wielding that sort of influence made him uneasy. Even if his days were numbered, Ash didn’t need them complicated by cronies of the Camarilla. 

Then again, perhaps his concern was due to Isaac. Some bloodline trait, maybe. A sickly disease of personality, infecting his mind, just as his monstrous nature had infected his body. Ash felt the crack of his knuckles as he squeezed his hand into a fist with inhuman strength. He never felt fucking safe any more. Not even in his own head. Blake was steering clear of the dancers, and moved to the bar; she never noticed the man shadowing her ever so slightly, so as to keep her in sight. Ash gave a little smirk. It’d been a while since he experienced the thrill of a quick escape. Why not add the thrill of pulling the rug from under these idiots? Maybe they’d even kill him for it. Like he’d care.

Ash crossed the floor, weaving around the drunk and the dancing with easy Toreador grace. He was barely a few inches from the woman and her scent hit him like a brick to the face. It cut across the sweaty, muddled background of the club and whetted his appetite. Spicy, warm and almost comforting. He could all but sink his teeth into it.

Just as soon as the image came… the desire to bite right into her soft, exposed neck, he recoiled, disgusted with himself. The Camarilla man who’d looked as though he was going to intervene gave a pause as Ash drew back. He hadn't fed in a long time.

Perhaps he should stick to driving his car into things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, LaCroix is using Dominate on Blake. It's rather uncouth for most Ventrue to use their Disciplines in most circumstances, but from the way the game went, he strikes me as being a bit...unorthodox. 
> 
> The current year is 2000, which is four years before the events of VTMB; we haven't met our game's protagonist yet!


	3. I Endevour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is a song by The Agonist. I found the lyrics rather fitting (for Ash in particular!).
> 
> Song link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qVDsI-9wKbw&ab_channel=PaleWhiteAngel

The night was beginning to wane, and the club had dwindled as closing time approached. Ash peered over the balcony, noting that the entourage had left without the girl. It made a measure of sense; as sunrise approached, few Kindred would take the chance of being trapped in the enemy’s territory. No matter how ‘civil’ the relationship appeared to be, many Camarilla Kindred refused to trust Isaac.

The girl hadn’t danced at all; she just sat by the bar, sipping drinks and generally keeping to herself. She slid off the bar stool, somewhat tipsy on her heels, and looked as though she was making her way to the ladies’. Blake was out of his line of sight, but Ash could hear the clicks of her footsteps up the stairs. The crowd on the balcony was far sparser than it was downstairs, with few booths in use. She claimed a space near to the wall, shaking her head as though she were trying to shake the cobwebs out.

With the Cammy vampires gone, the thrill was quite diminished. Ash couldn’t deny the growing hunger that burned his throat, nor could he deny how much he’d loved the scent of her skin. Admittedly, the idea he’d just gotten into his head was foolish, but it was so very attractive. With such little to lose, what could he do? He moved across the room without a sound, taking the empty spot she’d left at her side.  
  
His voice was quiet. “Long night?”  
  
She turned to look at him, the drink dulling her surprise. “Longer than most. I haven’t seen you in a long time, Ash Rivers.”

“I’ve been…a bit too busy for a social life,” he said. The lie felt flat, diminished under his air of distaste.

She peered at him through thick lashes. Her makeup had been done well—understated, yet classy. Though it couldn’t quite hide the marks of exhaustion from under her eyes. It looked as though she hadn't slept properly in days.

“I think that’s going to be me for a while. It’s not like I had a social life anyway, but I can’t work anymore.”

 _That_ piqued his interest. “And why is that?”

She smiled ruefully. “You haven’t heard of my father’s recent demise? Part of the inheritance contract says that I can’t hold other employment and run the company. That was our caveat.”

“And you miss fighting.”

“I do. Don’t you miss acting?”

His grip on the edge of the table strengthened, and he felt the material groan under his fingers. “It was my life, and it’s over now.”

“How do you deal with it?” she stared pensively at her lap. “I feel like they’re trying to smother me.”

He caught her eye, trying not to let the hunger peek through. “You find… _other_ pursuits.”  
  
She laughed. “Are you flirting?”

“It depends,” he answered, savouring the feeling of her leg lightly touching his as she shifted a little closer. She leaned with her elbow on the table, staring intently at him. She smelled divine, and he couldn’t stop himself from tracking the pulse in her neck. “Do you have anything to do today?”

A flush of colour rose to her cheeks, and her gaze faltered. “I don’t, and I’d like to get out from under my new business partner’s thumb, to be honest.”  
  
_Ah, LaCroix_. “Overbearing, is he?”

She paused as if wondering whether she should continue.

Ash felt himself chuckle a little. “Answer my question and I’ll answer anything you ask me.”

A moment passed and she seemed to decide that she didn’t care about propriety. “He’s been keeping an eye on me, I think. His people finally left, and I get the feeling they’re going right back to report to him.”

“Well, they’re not around anymore, it’s just you and me,” he said with a slight smirk.

She gave another one of those little blushing pauses before collecting herself. “Okay, so my question: why are you asking me to stay with you? Rumour has it that you’ve gone off your old womanizing days.”

 _Word gets around like a communicable disease in Hollywood._ “I haven’t been myself for a while,” he said somewhat truthfully. “And I have a feeling you’re a more fulfilling prospect than groupies.”

“Well that’s judgmental of you,” she pointed out.

“Perhaps, but you don’t get by without realising that some people prey on you just as much as you prey on them.”  
  
She cocked an eyebrow at him. “They don’t have the power and influence, it seems a tad unfair to compare the two,”

“You’re right, but they don’t understand the feel of the limelight; how it is to live in the public eye. You do.” Ash moved to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear, relishing the way her breath hitched just a little. “In any case, it’s my turn now. How long has it been since you’ve slept with anyone?”

She laughed, hiding her face in her hands. “I can’t even remember, to be honest. You don’t have much time when you’re training and travelling for a living.”  
  
“You should live a little,” he said—just a little bitterly, if he was being honest with himself. “It’s your turn.”

“When are you going to stop beating around the bush with me?”

 _The kitten has teeth._ “Well, if you’re that adamant on it,” he answered obligingly, “I’ve got to close up, but you could wait upstairs.”  
Blake bit her lip; she was close enough now for the lines of their bodies to touch. He touched the side of her face lightly, trying not to think about how soft her skin was. How much he wanted to feel it under his teeth. He leaned in and placed a soft kiss on her cheek. He knew his body was growing colder by the night, especially since he’d put off feeding. She didn’t remark on it, but he could feel a slight shiver as his lips touched her skin.

He rose from the stall, taking her hand to signal that she should follow. Near the staircase, an ebony door stood nondescriptly against the dark wallpaper. He opened it and fished the key for the inner haven out of his pocket.  
  
“I’ll be right with you,”

She was smiling shyly as she took the key, her hands lingering ever-so-slightly on his. The anticipation was roiling under his skin as he watched her walk down the hallway. As she moved, the figure-hugging dress outlined the curve of her rear beautifully, sending an amourous tremor right to his loins.

He took a forced breath and looked around the sparsely populated club. He needed to find someone to feed from, and now. There was that _hope_ , that small, lonely idea in the back of his mind. VV had told him about it: The Blush of Life. He’d never done it before, but he knew he needed far more blood than he had to even attempt it. If it worked…it would be no closer to fixing his retirement from acting, but he would be able to properly reciprocate, to feel a woman’s _love_ again.

When his eyes moved across the club patrons, they were filled with a predatory resolve.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure how many people noticed, but question and answer scene was just a little shout-out to the Kindred: The Embraced TV series ;)


End file.
